Rude Desires
by StarkidStruck
Summary: A patient of Hannibal's has to cope with the fact that she desires him in a way that is extremely rude for a patient to desire her psychiatrist. Basically just lots of smut. Technically HannibalXReader but told in first person.
1. Chapter 1

I'm seated across from him in one of his gray leather chairs. He narrows his eyes, leans back, and folds his hands together.

"So," Dr. Lecter says. "What seems to be pressing at you today?"

"I don't know," I answer, and he raises an eyebrow. "I mean, I do, but I don't know why. I can't explain why."

Dr. Lecter leans forward, his maroon eyes flashing with interest. "Tell me," he says.

It's like he's put a spell on me. Words start to form in my brain. "I hate myself. Flat out despise. Everything I do annoys me. I try to empathize with people to see how they feel about me, but then I think about how much they must hate me too, and I'm ugly as a nail and I can't get a boyfriend and I can't stand myself." I say it all in one breath, and have to take a second to regain myself.

"Not all of that is entirely true," Dr. Lecter says carefully.

I look away. Of course, he's getting paid to say that I don't annoy him. When he speaks again, I bring my eyes back to look at him.

"Have you tried-" he starts, but before I can stop myself, I blurt out, "I masturbate but I hate myself for it."

I can't tell if the flash in his eyes is surprise or just a reaction. His eyes narrow. "Why do you hate yourself for it? It is a very normal thing."

"I can't even explain it..." I say quietly. "I just do it, and I hate myself during it and after as well."

"Why would you experience self-hate while performing one of the utmost processes of self-love?" He thinks for a moment. "Perhaps it is shame. Related to, I think, what or who you are thinking about while doing it?"

Almost too quickly, I break his gaze. I can't make myself tell him that it's him whom the thought of has gotten me there the past six weeks.

"That might be part of it," I mutter, talking to the ground.

He reaches across and places a hand on mine so as to get my attention. "I want you to masturbate right now, right here. I think it will be good for you to do it in the company of another. A slap in the face, so to speak, for self-consciousness."

I jump in my seat. "I can't!" I burst out.

"Why not?" he demands.

"Because...because it's you."

It might be my imagination, but I could swear his expression softens.

"Do it," he says quietly.

Realizing that I can't resist his treatment, I nod obediently. I pull off my pants and underwear and self-consciousness floods my entire being. Dr. Lecter doesn't look down, but keeps his gaze locked on my face. He nods.

I realize quickly that as usual, I'm already wet from my session with him. It's that accent, I think as I apply pressure to my clit with two fingers. I close my eyes as I trace small circular patterns. I don't finger myself. That's never worked for me. Perhaps it's because I'm a virgin.

I open my eyes to see Dr. Lecter staring intently at me. I take in his features, biting my lip. A moan escapes my mouth. I imagine his mouth on my clit instead of my fingers. His thin, perfect mouth. My body shudders. I'm soaking wet and my lower half is starting to pound. I quicken my pace, applying harder pressure and a faster motion. I take one look at him and throw my head back and close my eyes. I'm moaning loudly now, almost to my limit.

I dare one last peek at him and see a trace of a smile on his beautiful lips. "Come for me," he says in that damn sexy accent.

I throw my legs out and my head back and I'm coming harder than I ever have in my life. "Doctor Lecter!" I yell, removing my hand and being resorted to do absolutely nothing but quiver in ecstasy. When the orgasm passes, I look at him, tears in my eyes. He stands up and hands me my clothes.

"Please, call me Hannibal."


	2. Chapter 2

At the same time the following week, I knock on Dr. Lecter's door, nervousness making my body fidgety. What would he say? What would he do?

He opens the door wearing a spectacular three-piece suit, as per usual. I catch my breath.

"Ah," he says. "Come in, come in." He watches me as I enter, no doubt taking note of the shakiness in my steps. I go and sit down, and Dr. Lecter follows me and does the same. He peers at me intently.

"So," he says.

"So," I say.

"Are your self-loathings continuing?" he asks promptly.

"Er-" I start. "Not as much."

Dr. Lecter nods in approval. "Now," he says. "I want you to tell me every sexual fantasy you've had concerning me."

I feel lightheaded. What would this even accomplish?

He leans in to stare at me unblinkingly. "Tell me," he says in a very commanding tone.

I close my eyes, feeling my cheeks redden just thinking about it.

"The first time, it was a dream. It just sort of came out of nowhere, I fell asleep and in my dreams you were fucking me. I'd never had a wet dream before that, but I woke up completely soaked and totally in shock." I open my eyes.

"Was that right before the appointment you cancelled several weeks back?" he asks.

I nod and swallow heavily. "I couldn't face you after that...at least not right away. The next time I pleasured myself, that dream just sort of replayed in my head..." I trail off.

"You're not telling me the details," he says. "Go on, you won't offend or disgust me."

I take a deep breath and close my eyes again. "I'm stripped naked, self-conscious to the max. You bend me over your desk and take me. You're rough, you're merciless, and you take my virginity with ease. I can't take the time to feel ashamed or nervous, and I can't even feel pain. I'm completely numb, knowing nothing but the incessant pounding of your cock."

My heart is hammering in my ears. My hands are clenched and sweating.

"I try to lean back to kiss you; I even grab you by the tie, but you slap me across the face and grab me by my shoulders. You're whispering in my ear in a language I don't recognize, the occasional English curse mixed in."

I close my eyes so hard that colors start to swim against the back of my eyelids.

"I come first, crumpling over so that I fall to the ground. I take your cum in my mouth, swallowing every drop. Then I wake up."

Silence ensues for two or three minutes. At the sound of Dr. Lecter's voice, I open my eyes.

"You know it's rude to think of your psychiatrist in such a way, don't you?" he says.

I nod and look down. His hands are folded over his crotch, something I've never seen him do before, and I have the sneaking suspicion that he's hiding an erection.

"Don't hate yourself for those thoughts," he says, surprising me. He stands up and beckons to me to do the same. "If you would be so kind as to accept an invitation to dinner tomorrow, that would be excellent."

Whatever I was expecting him to say, that was not it. Bewildered, I can't get my words out. "I-yes, of course."

"Good," a trace of a smile plays on his lips. "I invite you as a friend, and not as a patient." He strides over to the door. "This concludes our session for today. I'll see you at 6 tomorrow, then." He sees me out, and I swear I can see a devilish look in his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

At 5:59 the next evening, I walk up to Dr. Lecter's door and knock. He opens the door, standing in a pink collared shirt and a black vest, echoed by a patterned tie. He's wearing a white apron. I smile. He looks so handsome.

"Welcome," he smiles. "Dinner is ready."

He leads me into the dining room and pulls out a chair for me, placing his strong hand on my shoulder ever so briefly. "Excuse me," he says, exiting into the kitchen. The table is set up exquisitely, so fancy it feel as though he was expecting someone other than me. I take a sip of the wine placed in front of me and wait.

A few seconds later, he comes back carrying two plates. His apron has been removed. He places one plate in front of me and goes to sit at the head of the table.

"We are dining on pork tonight," he says, cutting his meat expertly.

"I haven't eaten pork since I was a kid," I confess. Dr. Lecter pops a piece in his mouth and gives me a quizzical expression. "My dad just never made it." I cut a piece and chew it slowly. If meat was a drug, it would be like this. "Mmmm," I manage. "This is delicious."

He smiles. "I enjoy fine food, so cooking is a hobby."

We eat in silence for a few minutes. "So," he says. "Any dreams last night?" he gives me a heart-stopping smirk.

A bit surprised he would bring this up at dinner, I'm glad I can truthfully answer no. I shake my head. "Not last night. Why? Were you thinking of making me keep a dream journal or something?"

He laughs, but it's more of a snort chuckle than an actual laugh. "No, I was merely curious. Forgive me."

"It's fine," I say. By this point I am finished with my pork. I take another sip of wine. "Dr. Lecter-"

"Hannibal," he interjects.

"Hannibal. You really do have a way with food. That was perhaps the finest meal I have ever eaten."

"Thank you," he says, his accent heavy. He takes one last bite and chews it carefully. "Would you care for dessert? I have a bit of mince pie made up."

"Is that the pie with meat in it?" I ask.

"Yes."

"Okay, then, yes please."

Dr. Lecter stands up and collects my plate and strides into the kitchen. I think for a minute. Why did he really invite me here?

He brings out two slices of mince pie. Pumpkin pie has always been my favorite, but after tasting Dr. Lecter's mince, that may no longer be true.

After we both finish, he insists that I needn't help clean but that we sit and talk like civilized people; like friends. We discuss food, my schooling, dogs, and opera. After nearly two hours, I decide it's best if I start to head home. He walks me to my car and opens the door for me. For a moment, I'm sure he's going to kiss me. But then he places his hand on mine and says, "See you next week."

As I drive home, all that's on my mind is Dr. Lecter. Shit, I'm in deep.


	4. Chapter 4: The Porn

I attend my next therapy session clad in a skirt, which I almost never wear. I realize it was the one I was wearing in my dream, so what's the harm?

When I arrive at his office, Dr. Lecter is standing outside the door; something new. He ushers me inside quickly and before I can say anything, I'm being shoved up against the wall. He pins me to the wall and starts kissing me hard. I try to kiss him back but the sheer force of his body against mine keeps me unable to do anything except let him do what he pleases with me. He kisses my neck and I swear I can feel him bite down. I feel blood trickle down my shoulder and I realize that he did. He licks at the blood and when he kisses me again, I taste it on his tongue.

"Whatareyoudoingdoctorlecter" I manage to gasp.

One strong hand closes around my neck and he holds me up against the wall, choking me. "Call. Me. Hannibal."

He sets me down and basically throws me across the room. "Need you now," he gasps. He puts me on the desk and tears the clothes and undergarments off my body. He spreads my legs and I feel his tongue at my folds.

Never have I been touched like this. It's almost too much to handle. "Hannibal," I moan, thrusting a hand into his hair, slightly scared he might order me not to. He doesn't. Every muscle in my body is tensed, ready to spasm. "I'm-" I start, but he pulls out from under me.

His face is mere inches from mine, a wild, murderous expression on it, and he says, "Don't you dare come yet."

He unbuttons and throws down his trousers, pulling out his cock. I try to reach down but he slaps my hand. I realize he's such a dominating man that even having someone in control of his dick wouldn't be good for him.

I'm seeing a side of my psychiatrist I've never seen. And despite the pain, I like it. No, I love it.

He flips me over and makes me stand on my feet facing his desk, just like in the dream. The wood of his desk is hard and cold against my front. He shoves the books and lamp to the side, leaving them forgotten on the floor.

Suddenly, his hand smacks my ass, hard and painfully. He leans in close to my ear. "You're a naughty girl, thinking about your psychiatrist like that." He spanks me again, and I try to cry out but it turns into a moan. "Oh, you're loving every second of this, aren't you?" Again. Tears well up in my eyes. "You love being tortured, look at you, all wet and ready to be my little whore." Again. Tears are streaming down my face. "Do you want me to fuck you?" Again. I nod. "Tell me how much you want it," he croons, biting onto my ass and then smacking it the hardest he's done yet.

"Please," I moan, feeling my arousal dripping down my thighs. "Please."

"Say my name," Hannibal growls, his voice edging on hysteria. "Say my name!"

"Hannibal," I choke out. "Fuck me, Hannibal. Fuck me!"

His hand smacks my ass once more. "You're being very rude," he murmurs. "Rudeness deserves punishment." He slaps my ass and then drops to his knees and laps up the wetness trailing down my legs. "You taste like a fine wine."

This is absolute torture. I cry out in pain and anticipation. "Fuck me. Please fuck me."

"We'll see," Hannibal says. I can feel blood trickling all down my body. He dips his hand in it and shoves his hand up my pussy, using the blood as lubricant. My mind doesn't seem to register the disgustingness of any of this. All I can think about is what his cock will feel like inside me.

His hand slides out and he strokes the side of my face with a finger.

"Please. Please, Hannibal." I moan.

I'm expecting another spanking, but instead, I feel his cock slide into me. I scream out, falling forward, then rock my hips back to meet him.

Hannibal shows absolutely no mercy. He thrusts into me so hard my head spins. I can barely even moan. One hand clamps on my shoulder, so hard I'm positive there will be bruises. The other hand tugs on my hair. Every so often he sneaks in another spanking. "Look at you," he whispers in my ear. "A virgin slut; so greedy, so dirty." His accent is the heaviest I've ever heard it. He drags me up and away from the desk so he can enter me more fully. I can feel his cock so deep inside me that it feels like my entire body is being penetrated. I feel his mouth, and then his teeth, on the back of my neck. He draws blood and sucks at the spot as he hammers into me. I should feel pain, I should be disturbed, but this blood fetish of his is somehow really fucking hot.

I can't last much longer, and I think he knows that. "Hannibal," I moan, grabbing back and pulling at his tie. He slaps me and pushes my head onto the desk. It would be uncomfortable if his cock didn't feel as utterly perfect as it did.

He's fucking me even harder now. Each thrust seems to reach deeper, his balls slapping against my thighs. He holds onto my torso, his nails digging in. I can feel the first bite wound open up again, and blood trickles down my side. Hannibal doesn't stop to lick it this time but seems to be entirely focused on completion.

Every sense in my body is intensified. My pussy feels like it's going to implode. Hannibal grabs me by the hair and pulls me up so he can whisper in my ear. He's muttering in his native tongue, nibbling at my ear and groaning softly. He's close, too.

I start to scream instead of moan. My body can't take this anymore. "Hannibal...Hannibal..." I don't understand how he has this much stamina, but this is the hardest he's pounded me yet. He trails kisses along my back and neck, occasionally biting. When he reaches my ear, he whispers, "Come. But don't make a sound. If you make one more sound, I will kill you." For some reason, I don't doubt that he will. I choke from not being permitted to moan. "Come." he demands, and then I lose all control. I gag, echoes of a silent moan getting caught in my throat. My body clenches and expands in a glorious ecstasy of pure pleasure. My body is pounding and this wonderful feeling has consumed me entirely. I can't think, I can't breathe...

Just then, my body warms all over. It takes a second to realize that Hannibal is pumping his seed into me. His throbbing cock works with my clenching opening until, finally, the ecstatic pleasure fades and he pulls out.

I fall to the ground, curled up in a ball, tears flowing. Not from pain, not from self-loathing. The tears are for the pleasure that's faded, a feeling that I wanted to last forever. Hannibal squats down and strokes my shoulder.

I squint at him. He's looking into my eyes, half-crazed with power and pleasure.

"Are you a murderer?" I ask him.

His thin lips spread into a smile. "I am many things, my little whore. But am I correct in assuming that your pretty little pussy would open up for me no matter what I was?"

"Yes, you are correct," I say, my voice breaking.

"Now," Hannibal says. He pulls me to my feet. My legs are still shaking.

"Are you going to kill me?" I ask, still breathing heavily.

But I don't hear his reply.

I can't stand. I can't think straight. I pass out.


End file.
